


Les Lunettes

by Resy_Lesy



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26334148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resy_Lesy/pseuds/Resy_Lesy
Summary: Sometimes, when you've lost everything, there's only one long-forgotten dark place left to turn to. Sometimes, when you've lost everything, the only way to claw your way back up to the top is by turning to and into the people you hate. And sometimes, worst of all, it's the best decision you've ever made.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Les Lunettes

**Author's Note:**

> Is it possible to write fix-it fic before something even goes wrong? Because that's what I'm doing here. Set directly after All Out 2020, and if BTE ends up contradicting this, well, at least I'll have my pipe dream.

Hangman Adam Page’s room away from the Elite was less of a room and more of a closet with enough space to shove a couch in. It was close enough to the showers for his liking, which helped on tonight of all nights, where he had to stumble from the ring to his room and to the showers and back again under no one’s power but his own.

Someone knocked on his door as he toweled his hair dry, a sharp two-one-two pattern that made his back stiffen.

Cautious and curious, Adam opened the door, only to slam it shut as the visage of the Young Bucks made themselves known.

Matt shoved his hand in at the last second, hissing in pain as the door cracked against his forearm. “Hey, man, come on, open the door. I’ve already broken my ribs this year, I don’t wanna add my arm to that.”

“We just wanna talk,” Nick added, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Adam called back, from farther into the room, the door left abandoned. Matt kicked it open.

“Yeah, we didn’t either, and then that match happened,” Nick said, shouldering his way into the room and leaning against the wall. Adam had resigned himself to the middle of the couch, his arm crossed. Nick noted Adam was already dressed to leave, the wet spots from his curls drying on the shoulders of one of his florals.

“Something came up,” Matt continued, shutting the door behind himself and his brother.

Adam raised his eyebrows.

“Okay, well, there’s no good way to say this,” Matt said, and Nick nodded, “but that match made us realize something. During this entire thing, since Revolution, since November, since AEW was _founded_ -” Matt paused to take a deep breath. “You’ve been Kenny, and Kenny’s been Ibushi.”

Adam’s sarcastic ‘you realized you were dicks?’ died on his tongue. “You wanna tell me how you came up with that crazy conclusion?” is what he asked instead.

“It was mostly what happened after the match,” Nick admitted, shifting on the wall. His expression changed to one of deep discomfort. “And not what happened in the ring.”

“Or what didn’t happen,” Matt tacked on, and Nick nodded sagely.

“When we followed Kenny out of the building, he was saying stuff. . . stuff he hasn’t said since, well. You-know-when, about you-know-who.”

“He wanted us to choose,” Matt continued. He looked at the floor instead of Adam, or even his brother. “Between you and him. And I know, we always choose him. But - that’d be proving you right. Proving _FTR_ right. And then I remembered comforting Kenny after that breakup, how he said he felt like he was never listened to, always existing in _his_ shadow, and I realized -”

“We’d been doing the exact same shit to you,” Nick finished, frowning. “Like, shit, man, I called you a jobber and told you to get over it. I didn’t even apologize. And I know it won’t make it right, or that saying that I said it in the heat of the moment doesn’t make it right, but - I’m sorry.”

Adam stayed silent, too stunned and insulted to speak.

“Look, man, I know you’re mad at us. At yourself, at Kenny, at FTR -”

‘Aaaaaand Matt’s rambling again,’ Adam thought to himself. ‘Just like he always does when he wants to cover his own ass.’ _Or_ , some insidious little part of him thought, _like when he’s righteously angry_. Adam stomped that part of himself down.

“And nothing we do can make it right, but like, every time we pushed you away, or didn’t listen, that’s on us, isn’t it? Like I said about you and FTR in that promo -” Matt caught wind of Adam’s expression and waved him down. “Don’t worry about it - like, you said yourself you were out of the Elite _months_ ago, but we just kept trying to include you but you wouldn’t goddamn listen -” Nick elbowed his brother in the ribs, and Matt refocused with a wince, “but we only kicked you out when _we_ felt hurt.”

“We ignored the part where you felt hurt since the beginning,” Nick said, and the combination of his soft tone mixed with so much bitterness made Adam’s stomach turn. He felt quite sick actually, with his heart beating too fast and his hands shaking, and some part of him felt like he shouldn’t even bother to be breathing. Adam knew he should be angrier, should be filled with righteous rage of his own and fire back, _defend_ himself, say they were right and that they _were_ terrible friends, but the occasion of the Young Bucks admitting they were wrong was such a rarity that it was all he could do to even remain seated.

Not to mention the little part of himself that just wanted to curl up and cry for turning to the bottle instead of his friends, who -

“Didn’t even bother to show you support in the way you needed anyways, and we just blamed you, blamed FTR -”

Adam dimly realized Matt was still talking, and nodded, throwing in a numb “Yeah.”

Matt blinked at him, before pursing his lips and nodding. “Yeah. We all kinda suck, don’t we.”

A moment passed where no one said anything, but the uncomfortable silence shattered when Nick sighed and rolled his shoulders. After a few seconds, Nick seemingly got over whatever he mentally warred with by crossing the room and sitting next to Hangman on the couch.

“What are you doing?” Matt and Adam asked at the exact same time. A flush crept up Nick’s neck, and he rubbed the back of his head with his hand.

“I - uh - I thought you might want a hug. I would.”

Adam stared at him for a good long while. Every fibre of his being remained locked in a war, torn between rage at the utter callousness the Bucks showed, to only have that epiphany _now_ , and have the audacity to preach his own pain _to_ him - but the other side of him, the softer side, said that at least they _finally_ realized, and were giving him a chance, and it took two to tango, didn’t it? They both had to make concessions. Both sides had to put in the effort. Both sides had to want to.

Adam had already lost the titles tonight. What more was his pride?

Just as Matt made excuses for Nick, who had begun to push himself up from the couch, Adam leaned his head on his shoulder and slunk his left arm around the waist of the younger Buck.

Nick buried his head in Adam’s curls in the next instant, wrapping his arms around Adam’s torso in a too-tight hug that gave life to the anguish of the months gone by. A deep, shuddering gasp left Nick, and Adam felt his lips mouth ‘I’m sorry, man,’ against his shirt.

Matt settled himself on the armrest to Adam’s right a few moments later, playing with the strands of his hair that had escaped its bun. “I know I’m probably the last person you want a hug from -”

Adam linked his fingers through the belt loops of Matt’s jeans and stared at the floor. Matt slung his left arm around Adam’s neck.

For a good long while, no one said anything. But they didn’t need to.

It was Matt who broke the comfortable silence, because of fucking course it was. “So,” he said. He’d been loosely running his hand through Adam’s curls for the entire cuddle, making the strands frizz out. They tightened in his grip as Adam looked up to him. “Where do we go from here?”

“You said Kenny was losing it, right?” Adam asked, shifting his weight on the couch. Matt pursed his lips and nodded, and Nick resisted rolling his eyes by the skin of his teeth.

“It’s not like I haven’t noticed,” Adam said, too tired to get heated. “But this was the tipping point. He had that - what was it, a wooden chair? I was really out of it.”

“It was the bell stand table,” Nick said quietly. He scooted over and motioned Matt down, who gingerly lowered himself next to Adam, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice if the cowboy gave the say-so.

“Point is, he was ready to attack me this time.” Adam pulled his hands from the Bucks and pooled them in his lap, staring down at his fingers. “He was ready to kill me.”

“But he didn’t,” Matt defended, almost too quickly.

“But he didn’t. He thought about it, but he didn’t,” Adam agreed.

“See?” Nick wheedled, poking Adam in the side. “He loves you. You shoulda heard that interview segment on the red carpet -”

Adam carried on as if he hadn’t heard Nick. “But I’ve killed before. And I’m ready to do it again.” Matt and Nick froze on either side of him. “I want FTR six feet under. For what they did to me. For allowing myself to fall for their trap.” Nick laid a hand on his thigh. Adam didn’t react. “And I think Kenny wants that too, but he doesn’t know where to put that rage.”

Adam’s head snapped up, his fingers clenching into fists. “So if he’s going dark side, I say we let him, and let him loose right on FTR’s asses.”

“We follow,” Matt said, understanding beginning to color his voice. “Just like we always have.”

“We kill the business.” A slow, deadly smile made its way over Nick’s face. “Just like we always have.”

“And we’re together,” Adam finished, maybe a bit too quietly, as if he didn’t want to be heard.

“And we’re together, just like we always have been,” Matt said firmly, wrapping his arm around Adam’s waist. The other two fell silent at his frankly incorrect proclamation.

“Hey, guys?” Adam asked, a moment later, trying to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. “Y’remember that match against the Dark Order with FTR? Big tag?”

Matt nodded, and Nick gave his thigh a comforting squeeze.

“It felt like being home again,” Adam admitted, the corners of his mouth lifting up as he ducked his head and intertwined his fingers. “We were firing on all cylinders. It felt so easy - felt so right. We just flowed off of each other.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Matt said slowly, letting the words hang heavy from his tongue. “I felt it at the end of Stadium Stampede - I was on fucking cloud nine. On top of the _world_ , just like we were meant to be.”

Nick grinned up at them both, now moving to encircle Adam’s waist with both of his arms. “And when we were joking around in that EVP room, just singing and dancing and being idiots for BTE. Like we were back in Japan.”

Matt removed his arm from Adam’s waist to ruffle his curls. “I know we haven’t been the best to you, but we’re starting to get it. We just need to build on that old base, talk it out -”

Adam stood up abruptly, nearly knocking Matt into the armrest.

“The hell did I say?!”

“I need to find Kenny. We can’t - we can’t leave him alone like this.” Adam whirled to see twin, deadly serious expressions on the faces of the Bucks. “You still got ‘em, don’t you?”

With a wordless spark of magic, Nick handed it over to Adam.

“Go get ‘im, cowboy.”

Meanwhile, Kenny was off doing something he hadn’t done in a good six years, which was faceplant onto his bed and start screaming. Kenny thrashed his legs against his blankets, inflicting agony on his poor, FTR-abused knee, but the pain and rage were so much easier to deal with than the heartbreak and the loss.

By the time the adrenaline and anger had worn off, Kenny had reduced himself to a boneless, sobbing mess, not unlike a toddler after a tantrum.

Kenny rolled onto his back, gasping for air and running his forearm over his eyes. Everything hurt. Why did everything always have to hurt? He pulled a pillow to his chest, only to grunt as something landed on top of it.

Glowing yellow eyes met his, and Kenny tried to muster up a glare at his cat. “You’re not out of food, Dobby. I filled your bowl when I left this morning.”

His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears.

“Reh!” Dobby hissed, and batted at one of Kenny’s limp curls.

Kenny groaned and sat up, Dobby daintily jumping to the floor in the same moment. “You’re so self-absorbed,” Kenny informed him, and the cat merely strutted away and toward the kitchen. “Spoiled, entitled, no-good brat,” Kenny continued, dissolving into a string of cussing that sounded more like he muttered about somebody else entirely.

As Kenny pushed the remainder of Dobby’s food into the center of the bowl, just the way he liked it, a knock sounded at the door. A sharp, two-one-two pattern that made Kenny’s back stiffen. Kenny set his teeth and ignored it, ripping open the fridge door with far too much force and grabbing a water bottle.

He didn’t look at the few beers Hangman had left, right next to the milk he’d bought for Kenny as a gift.

Kenny pounded the water back, throat parched beyond belief. It _burned_ , from the screaming, from the crying, from the chops. The knocking continued.

Kenny growled and stalked over to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open with a snarl meant to intimidate whoever stood on the other side. “Who the _fuck_ -”

It was Hangman.

Kenny threw the remainder of his drink in his face.

“Fuck you. How _dare_ you show up!” Kenny began, hatred coiling its fiery way up his torso and clawing into his heart. “After what just happened -”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about!” Adam interrupted, reaching up to rub his own face dry with his sleeve. Kenny belatedly noticed Adam wore the pink, flowery flannel that Kenny really liked. Kenny then beat that feeling down with pure rage.

“It better be about how to get those fucking belts back, you piece of shit!”

“It is!”

Kenny stopped his tirade for a split second to blink up at Adam. Adam took that second to really look at Kenny, see how those beautiful baby blues had turned red-rimmed, how his cheeks glowed with splotches of messy, angry color, how his curls hung limp around his head. He hadn’t even changed out of his gear.

Kenny only needed a second to get angry again. “Sure thing, wise guy. What’s your fuckin’ plan? Trick them like they did you? Use _me_ against them? You fucking -”

“Actually, yeah.” Adam held out his hand.

Kenny did a remarkably good impression of Vickie Guerrero, screeching “ _EXCUSE ME_?!” so loudly into the night that Dobby yowled in displeasure. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Kenny all but shrieked. “and you want me to shake your fucking hand after that? After everything that just happened? Like you think we’re fucking _friends_?!” Kenny looked down in disgust at Adam’s hand, fully intending to spit on him, only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

In Adam’s hand sat a pair of aviators, preserved and polished and guarded by the Bucks for the past two years.

“Where you go, we’ll follow,” Adam said, his quiet voice the only sound in the Floridian night. “No matter what path you take us down. No matter what we have to do - as long as it’s with you.”

Kenny slumped against the doorframe, and Adam didn’t know what kept him from speaking - pain, or shock. “If you want to kill me for what just happened, go ahead. I know I deserve it.” Something cracked in Adam’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Kenny. For everything. I can’t -” Adam choked, his fingers curling around the sunglasses as his voice failed him. He struggled with the words, until -

Kenny’s hand wrapped around his, closing Adam’s fingers around the glasses. “You don’t want this.”

“I didn’t _want_ to lose those belts. Being tag champs with you, tagging with you, hell, man, just _being_ with you - that’s what mattered to me.” Adam used his free hand to wipe his face dry once more. “B-but I fucked it up. So if - if going to that place, that dark side we haven’t been to in years - if that’s what makes us win. . . I’m willing to do it. Matt and Nick are willing to do it.”

Kenny sniffled and withdrew his hand from Adam’s.

Adam dropped his empty hand to his side.

“FTR won’t know what hit ‘em,” Adam offered with a small smile, utterly negated by the fresh tracks of tears on his cheeks.

“No one will.” Kenny played with the metal in his hands, and Adam desperately wished to grab one of his bandanas and wipe Kenny’s tears away. But he didn't.

“So. . . is this goodnight, then?”

A flash of a grin appeared on Kenny’s face. “And goodbye.” He pulled himself to his feet and clasped Adam’s shoulder, his touch burning through the fabric. “I’ll see ya at Dynamite. Get ready to change the world, baby.”

**Author's Note:**

> All I want is for the Elite to be friends and if they all have to turn heel at once and run roughshod over the entire company to stay together and love and trust each other who am I to stop them?


End file.
